


Stripes

by danwriteskink



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Caning, D/s overtones, M/M, Painplay, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: Harold wouldn't want someone who gave in easily.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	Stripes

"John Rooney, assets." John extends his hand for their latest number to shake, and as he does, the tails of his jacket brush his ass. He doesn't let it show on his face, but the pressure is enough to make the raised lines there sting. It's pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. 

"I saw that flinch, Mr Reese." Harold's voice is velvet in his ear. Of course he saw it; after all this time of close observation, it would be impossible for him to miss John's reaction. "I'm so glad you're aware of your marks. It would be a shame to have put all that effort in, only to find that you're indifferent. 

Their number blinks at John, surprised by something ferocious in his gaze. John schools his expression and gives him an easy-going smile. The man relaxes, and shows John to his office for their scheduled meeting. 

John walks behind him, and every step causes his bruised ass to burn. "I find it difficult to believe anyone could be indifferent to twenty cuts, Finch," he says under his breath. He's going to have to sit down in a moment. That's going to sting. His skin prickles with anticipation. 

"Yes," says Harold. "You're right, twenty was a lot. You take it so well, though. Perhaps you should try being a little less stoic when I'm caning you? It's difficult not to see it as a challenge." 

"Do you really want someone who gives in easily, Finch?" John strides into the office and sits without hesitation in the chair opposite the desk. The pain is intense, and he feels his breath catch, but he forces himself to keep his expression cordial and his body language bland. This is just a financial meeting, he telegraphs to their number on the other side of the desk. You don't need to know about the livid red stripes my boss laid into my ass this morning. That's none of your concern. 

"Is our number anxious because he's in danger, or because he's terrified of you, Mr Reese?" 

John tilts his head from side to side to indicate his uncertainty here. 

"You know, I think submission makes you all the more terrifying to other people," Harold says, conversationally into John's ear. In front of John, their number swallows and fidgets with his pen. "It sends out a signal of some sort, that you're stronger for what you've been through, perhaps. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but I like it." 

"Something the matter?" John says. He leans forward – another reminder that Harold had sent him out into the world this morning with his mark etched into John's skin. "You seem a little on edge." 

Their number stutters something about this meeting being unexpectedly intense, when it was his understanding that John was only here to sound things out for a potential merger. 

"He will keep dragging the meeting out, won't he?" Harold's voice is detached. In the background John can hear the tinny sounds of the speakers on his computers as a video or sound file starts to play. John would worry about Harold losing concentration, but if there's anyone who can multitask to a high level of competence, it's Harold Finch. 

Then on the line John hears the unmistakeable swish of the cane through the air, and his body involuntarily tenses in his seat, ready to receive the blow. 

Their number takes this as a threat, and immediately breaks down in panicky tears, confessing his embezzlement and apologising profusely. Apparently he believes John to be a hitman, here to collect on his debt to the company. 

"Not quite," says John, but he's got a heads up now on the actual hitman exiting the elevator and heading quickly to the man's office. 

Then the mission gets dangerous enough that John really does forget about the stripes on his backside. He keeps the number safe, he gets the idiot to a safehouse where Harold can take care of his debt, and organise him a new identity. 

He's standing, watchful, on the balcony overlooking the living room of the safe house when the pain reinstates itself a little higher in his awareness. He's acutely aware of the texture of his suit trousers against his skin, even through the silk boxers that Harold insisted he wear this morning after the caning. Now, after running and sweating and keeping their number safe, the stripes are complaining of ill use, throbbing and humming. 

Seated below with their number, taking him through the details of his new identity, Harold spares a moment to glance upwards at John and smile. He knows. He knows how much John is aching to rub his ass where it hurt. Something must have changed in John's posture, to tell Harold that John is thinking of him, of what it means to submit to him. John meets Harold's gaze, and stands a little straighter, his head held up a little higher. Harold give him a tiny smile and a nod, and the reward is as potent as if Harold had run his hand through John's hair. 

The car arrives to collect the man, and Harold walks him to the elevator, shakes his hand and sees him off, while John lurks in the background. When their number is safely away, and Harold has returned to the safe house, John falls to his knees. It is the right thing to do, and it feels so good, to offer himself to Harold, to offer up his pain and his dedication. He lets his head hang down, watches Harold's polished shoes as they approach him. 

"Oh, John," Harold says, and pushes his hands into John's hair. "It is a privilege to watch you. You carry your marks so well." 

John shivers under his hands, feels himself blush at the praise. It doesn't make the lines across his ass sting any less, but it does make the pain into a kind of pleasure. He's bearing it for Harold, and Harold is proud. It's the best feeling in the world.


End file.
